by Cassie Cole
“Why not?”
“It’s not my story to tell. I’m not gonna blow his secret to some random chick. No offense.”
Her eyes were as round as dinner plates. “And there’s no way I could convince you to tell me?” She batted her eyelashes like a cartoon character.
I locked eyes with Cairo in the mirror. “Bro, sorry in advance, but I’m gonna spill the beans.”
Karen laughed her gorgeous laugh again.
Cairo parked on the street outside our apartment and turned off the engine. We looked around the crowded street, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
“What are you waiting for?” Karen asked.
Cairo looked back at me. I nodded and pulled out my phone to call Intel again. Jodie Prescott picked up on the first ring.
“Whatcha need, Petty Officer Kershaw?”
“How’s the CLF chatter?” I asked her. “Anything that should make us sweat?”
She made a clicking noise with her mouth. “It’s been quieter than a nun’s snatch since you boys hit the warehouse. Not a peep out of any of the channels we’ve been monitoring. You’re safe to proceed.”
I thanked her and hung up. SEAL Team 13 had half a dozen staff support on standby in case we needed anything, ready to gather intelligence or plan tactical maneuvers at the drop of a hat. They knew we had hit the warehouse to attempt to rescue the potential CIA Agent, but they didn’t know anything about Karen.
“We’re good,” I told Cairo.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me wait in the car?” Karen asked.
I gave her a look that said be serious. “I don’t suppose you want to get kidnapped by the Red Bitch again?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then you’re coming with us.”
We exited the car and crossed the street. Experience and habit made me scan both ways, not for cars but for anyone who was waiting for us to expose ourselves. People sitting in cars. Open windows, and laundry drying on rooftops. In a quick look my eyes took it all in.
No matter what Intel said, it was always best to keep a lookout for anything screwy.
“I get it,” Karen said when we began climbing the steps inside. “You just want to get me back in your apartment. To the scene of the crime.”
“You’ve got us,” I admitted.
“You didn’t need all this subterfuge,” she teased. “Sometimes being forward is best.”
I pointed at her. “Now, you say that, but I’ve found asking a girl to come upstairs to fuck rarely works.”
“Then you’re not asking the right girls.”
“Apparently.”
We exited the stairs onto the sixth floor, passing a young couple who was flirting in the doorway while holding hands.
Karen had a sparkle in her eye. It felt just like last night, where we were all nervous and a little bit awkward. Excited to see what would happen.
She didn’t actually intend for a repeat, did she?
I knew it wasn’t safe to stay here longer than necessary. Even with the thumbs-up from Intel that all was clear tonight. But I couldn’t help but fantasize about what we could do. Take Karen inside and fuck her up against the wall. Bend her over the couch and fuck her in the ass again. Maybe Cairo wanted to try that; as far as I knew, he’d never done that before.
It wasn’t for everyone. But everyone should at least give it a try once.
As Karen smiled warmly at me, I wanted her so badly I was in physical pain. Like she was already grabbing my balls and giving them a test squeeze.
Cairo glanced back at me. I’d been buds with him long enough to know he was thinking the same thing. It was the same look we exchanged last night: are we really going to do this?
We couldn’t. We had to be safer than that.
I repeated that to myself, hoping it would stick.
“Any chance I can take a shower?” Karen asked.
“That,” I said with a laugh, “sounds like an excuse to get naked.”
She gasped and put her hand on her chest in a gesture of mock-offense. “Can’t a girl get all soapy and wet without making a guy think about sex?”
“Not when you say it like that, dude.”
We reached our door and Cairo fumbled with the keys. “You know, maybe you should have gone into Apartment 69 last night. They wouldn’t have been as hot as us, but you might have avoided all this mess.”
“No kidding!” she laughed.
Then the smile disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I… I forgot,” she said. “Everything was hazy because Aina was hitting me…”
She was breathing heavy now. Like she was having a panic attack.
“Forgot what?” I grabbed her by the forearms and rubbed them up and down. “Karen? What did you forget?”
She pointed at the door. No, at the number on our door. “I told her. Where you guys lived. Apartment 68. I gave her the address and everything.”
“Oh,” Cairo said. His eyes widened.
Oh shit.
Intuition made me twist and look back down the hall. The young couple that was flirting at the top of the stairs had stopped chatting. They were watching us now.
Watching a little too closely.
“Hey,” Cairo said, taking a step toward them. His hand slipped inside his jacket to palm his sidearm. “¿Habla un momento?” Got a second?
The woman bolted first, followed a second later by the man. Their shapes disappeared down the stairs out of sight.
Cairo sprinted after them. I heard shouting drifting from the stairwell. The couple yelling at one another.
I didn’t speak much Spanish, but one word stuck out. A word which someone in my profession had to know in every language.
Bomba.
Bomb.
I wrapped Karen in my arms and covered her with my body.
Then the bomb went off.
19
Karen
Everything happened too fast for me to process.
Cairo called out to the people down the hall. They took off running, shouting something I couldn’t understand. Then Hunter wrapped me in a bear hug like an overly-affectionate boyfriend.
Then the world was destroyed.
There was a tremendous rush of air, as if we were suddenly in the eyewall of a hurricane. The pressure in my ears intensified rapidly, then abruptly ceased. The ground flew up and hit us in the chest, knocking the wind out of me.
Hunter was on top of me, smothering my body like a professional wrestling finishing move. He held me tight, all of his muscles tense. A wall of beautiful flesh.
The ground trembled and vibrated, though I heard nothing. It was like someone had pressed the mute button on the Barcelona remote control. The air burned my nostrils and smelled like smoke.
My hearing didn’t come back, but a high-pitched ringing sound did. I twitched my head but that only made it worse.
Hunter did a push-up to get off my body. Then he rolled over, hitting the ground hard and sliding into a sitting position against the wall. He leaned awkwardly with one leg stretched out and twisted sideways, as if he was trying to avoid putting pressure on something. I tried to get up to ask if he was okay but that simple motion made my head spin. I settled for laying on my side and waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.
Cairo knelt in my view, brushing aside my hair and staring intently at my face. “Are you okay?” he mouthed. I wondered why he was whispering until I realized he wasn’t. I couldn’t hear anything. Just that persistent ringing.
With his help I sat up against the wall next to Hunter. That gave me a front row seat to where Apartment 68 had once been. The door was completely gone. A massive hole of destruction now occupied that space, as if a giant had taken an icecream scooper and carved a sphere out of the wall, floor, and ceiling. Everything was charred black. Shards of wood and plaster filled the previously clean hallway.
La bomba. That’s what the strangers had shouted.
A bomb went off in their apartment.
I looked down at myself. In a flash of terror I expected to find pieces of my body missing, but I was relatively untouched.
Hunter.
I twisted my head. Cairo was tending to him while he leaned against the wall, mouth open in a silent groan. Half his shirt was ripped off, revealing cords of abdominals covered in black ash. The remaining half of his shirt was nothing more than rags, and fell away when he twisted around to extend his leg, showing it to Cairo.
Stuck into the back of his thigh was a shard of glass the size of a pizza slice.
“Oh my God,” I shouted. I barely heard my own voice.
Cairo touched around Hunter’s leg, which was trickling blood. “Not near the femoral,” he shouted.
Hunter jerked his head in a single nod, like he was giving permission for something.
Cairo grabbed the piece of glass and removed it in one swift yank. Dark blood came gushing out of the wound like a backed-up garbage disposal. Cairo used the remains of Hunter’s shirt to tie off the wound as a makeshift bandage.
“Can you walk?” he asked Hunter. My hearing was returning quickly, now.
Hunter grunted. “The fuck kind of question is that, bro? Help Karen.”
Cairo looked skeptical of his teammate’s statement. Then he clasped Hunter’s hand and his massive bicep curled, pulling him to his feet. He staggered as he tried to put weight on his injured leg, then gave a thumbs-up.
Cairo wrapped his arm around me and helped me out of the building, though I was surprisingly fine. My muscles ached, which I believed was from me tensing my entire body in the aftermath of the bomb.
The fire alarm was going off on the floor below ours, and people were streaming into the stairwell and out of the building. Mostly everyone was uninjured. Just confused and scared. We drew some stares from them, but most people were more intent on getting the hell out of there before another bomb went off.
More people were gathering outside, pointing up at the building and shouting. Police sirens wailed in the distance as Cairo led us to the car.
“Shouldn’t we talk to the police or something?” I asked.
“Intel will take care of it,” Cairo said.
Cairo drove away right as the first police car arrived.
*
I stared out the window at the passing buildings and pedestrians. Everything was so normal once we got a few blocks from the explosion. That felt wrong to me. Like people shouldn’t be able to go about their day when something so terrible had just happened.
I maintained physical contact with Hunter as if that helped him. His chiseled torso was covered with dust and dirt, with sweat beginning to smear it all together like a topographical painting of a desert.
“Get back to the command center,” Cairo told Logan on his cell phone. “You might be in danger. We’ll explain when we get there.”
We drove for 15 minutes before I recognized the same chocolate shop I’d seen a few minutes earlier. “What are we doing?”
“Making sure nobody is following us,” Cairo said.
Hunter grunted agreement in the seat next to me. His leg wound had stopped bleeding, but there was blood everywhere.
“And that means driving around the block over and over while Hunter bleeds in the back seat?”
“Yes,” Cairo said simply. “That’s exactly what it means.”
“I’m fine,” Hunter said in a weak voice. “Just get me back safe and then we’ll wipe these terrorists assholes out of Bratislava.”
I grabbed Cairo’s shoulder and shook it. “HE THINKS WE’RE IN SLOVAKIA!”
Cairo seemed unusually calm. I opened my mouth to scream some more, but Hunter stopped me by grabbing my arm. His grip was strong.
“It was a joke, babe. Relax.”
I still didn’t like how weak he sounded, but I did relax.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s my first time getting blown up.”
“Fuckin’ right,” Hunter said. “Someone set us up the bomb.”
I blinked. “Was that English?”
“Oh man, you’ve never seen that video?” Hunter laughed. “You need to Google it right now.”
“I lost my cell phone when I was kidnapped on the beach.”
Hunter gestured dismissively. “We’ll look it up when we get back, then. It’s a classic from the early days of the internet.”
“I’m glad funny memes are at the top of your priority list right now.”
“Why?” He coughed, which sounded like someone shifting marbles around. “Is there something else more important I should be worrying about?”
He took my hand and squeezed it. I gripped it tight for the rest of the drive.
The moment we walked in the cafe, the barista came running from the bar and locked the front door. She flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, closed all the blinds, and then led us into the back room by the secret door to the command center.
“Strip,” the Spanish woman commanded. Hunter untied the makeshift tourniquet, which was crusted to his pants with dried blood. Then he removed his pants until he was wearing just his boxer-briefs, which were so tight against his ass and thighs they were practically painted on.
Cairo went to the front door, ensured all the blinds were closed, and then peered out at the street. Standing watch.
The barista connected a hose to the sink in the corner and then positioned Hunter over a drain in the floor. He yelped and shivered as the water sprayed his filthy body, and he covered his muscles with his huge arms. The water that ran down into the drain was black, then red, then clear as she worked her way down his body.
Breathing heavily with the effort of standing, Hunter was even more muscular than I remembered. His abdominal muscles were long and flat, and his obliques ran up his side like bundles of beautiful yarn. Despite the grim circumstances—or maybe even because of them—I felt a pang of lust for the blond SEAL. His body was covered with small cuts and scratches. He turned, and with the grime removed I got a good look at the gash in the back of his thigh. It was as long and thick as a tube of chapstick, right along the edge of his boxer-briefs.
The barista tossed me a towel and we dried him off together. He winked at me as I ran the towel over his meaty booty. Then he sat in a chair so the barista could stitch up the wound.
“I’ve survived worse explosions,” he declared.
“Really?”
“No,” he said with a weary smile. “But saying that sounds bad-ass.”
The barista shook her head disapprovingly.
When he was hastily stitched up, the three of us went into the command center while the barista stayed out in the cafe. I helped Hunter to the couch while Cairo thumbed a code into one of the high-tech lockers, which made a ka-chunk noise as it swung open. He pulled out a white med kit and joined us on the couch. The first thing he pulled out was a small syrette of morphine.
“Nuh uh,” Hunter said, waving him away. “I don’t want it.”
Cairo glowered. “Don’t be a baby.”
“I’m the opposite of a baby, bro. I’m fine. I’d kill for a cigarette, but that’s it.”
Cairo shook his head and tossed the med kit on the ground. He returned to the lockers and punched in a different code. Another door swung open, revealing a bulletproof vest he immediately pulled over his head. Finally he opened one of the taller lockers, pulling out a gun.
A big gun.
It was a long assault rifle streaked with flecks of reddish paint. He loaded a boxy magazine into it, then stuffed his pockets with three or four extras. Enough ammo to storm Fort Knox.
He turned to me. “Can you handle him?”
“I don’t need handling!”
“Sure,” I said. “But where are you going?”
“We probably weren’t followed. Probably.” He jerked his head at the secret door in the corner. “Don’t let Hunter open that.”
“Why? What’s in it?”
He opened the door to the cafe.
“Something we’d better not need. Because if we do, then it means we’re already fucked.”
The door closed behind him.
20
Karen
The door closed behind Cairo. The only sound in our not-bunker was Hunter’s raspy breath.
“Asshole,” Hunter muttered, reaching for the med kit. He flicked off the cap to the syrette of morphine and stuck it in his thigh. “Ahh.” His eyes went glossy as the drugs kicked in.
“I thought you said you weren’t a baby.”
“Shh.” He pressed his thick finger against my lips. “You’re hotter when you’re not pointing out my insecurities, baby.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him. “I’m not your baby.”
His hand slid under my rump and gave my ass a hard squeeze. “You were my baby last night.”
“Last night was a fun one-time thing.”
“Then we had a date,” Hunter said, swaying on the couch. “Tapas. Remember? So we’re, like, on date number two now. Or something. Yeah. We’re practically your boyfriends.”
“I’ve never had two boyfriends before.”
“Two’s better than one. That’s just, like, math.”
I giggled. “You’re cute when you’re high.”
He sighed back into the cushion. “You’re cute when you’re… uh, always.”
I helped him slide down so that he was laying on his side on the couch. His arm wrapped around me and pulled me into him. Even drugged, he was too strong for me to resist.
Not that I wanted to.
I snuggled against his body, the little spoon to his big. His arm held me close against his semi-nude body, and his breath was warm against my neck.
“That’s better,” he mumbled. “I like this.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
“It’s my favorite.”
“Favorite what?”
“Position,” he said as if it should have been obvious. He gave my ass a tiny little thrust, his cock shockingly warm through his thin boxer-briefs. “Love fucking from this side.”
“Me too,” I said. “But not right now.”
“Why not?” he growled, kissing the back of my neck. He reached between us and pulled out his cock, stroking it while the head pressed against my ass. “I’ll be quick.”